The Book Thief Quotes

“She didn’t care about the food. . . . It was the book she wanted. . . . She wouldn’t tolerate having it given to her by a lonely, pathetic old woman. Stealing it on the other hand, seemed a little more acceptable. Stealing it, in a sick kind of sense, was like earning it.”

It was how the face was acting—also studying the crowd. Fixed in concentration. Liesel felt herself pausing as she found the only face looking directly into the German spectators. It examined them with such purpose that people on either side of the book thief noticed and pointed him out.

“No, thank you. I have enough books at home. Maybe another time. I’m rereading something else with my papa. You know, the one I stole from the fire that night.”

“With a clean-shaven face and lopsided yet neatly combed hair, he had walked out of that building a new man. In fact, he walked out German. Hang on a second, he was German. Or more to the point, he had been.”

“They were French, they were Jews, and they were you.”

“He came in every night and sat with her. The first couple of times, he simply stayed—a stranger to kill the aloneness. A few nights after that, he whispered, ‘Shhh, I’m here, it’s all right.’ After three weeks, he held her. Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man’s gentleness, his thereness. The girl knew from the outset that Hans Huberman would always appear midscream, and he would not leave.”

“After more than two hours, Liesel Meminger started writing, not knowing how she was ever going to get this right.”

“I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that’s where they begin. Their great skill is their capacity to escalate.”

“The best world shakers were the ones who understood the true power of words. They were the ones who could climb the highest. One such word shaker was a small, skinny girl. She was renowned as the best word shaker of her region because she knew how powerless a person could be WITHOUT words. That’s why she could climb higher than anyone else. She had desire. She was hungry for them.”

“Now he turned on to the side street . . . resisting the urge to sob or even imagine the safety that might be awaiting him. He reminded himself that this was no time for hope. Certainly he could almost touch it. He could feel it, somewhere just out of reach. Instead of acknowledging it, he went about the business of deciding again what to do if he was caught at the last moment or if by some chance the wrong person awaited him inside.”

“There were stars. They burned my eyes.”

“Many times, on the way home, women with nothing but kids and poverty would come running out and plead with him to paint their blinds. ‘Frau Hallah, I’m sorry, I have no black paint left,’ he would say, but a little farther down the road, he would always break. . . . ‘Tomorrow,’ he’d promise, ‘first thing,’ and when the next morning dawned, there he was, painting those blinds for nothing or for a cookie or a warm cup of tea.”

“The human heart is a line, whereas my own is a circle, and I have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that I’m always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both.”

“She stood up and took the book from him, and as he smiled over her shoulder at some other kids, she threw it away and kicked him as hard as she could . . . on the way down, he was punched in the ear. When he landed, he was set upon. When he was set upon, he was slapped and clawed and obliterated by a girl who was utterly consumed with rage.”

“It’s harder to find a Jew in the dark. He sat on his suitcase, waiting. How many days had it been now? He had eaten only the foul taste of his own hungry breath for what felt like weeks, and still, nothing. Occasionally voices wandered past and sometimes he longed for them to knuckle the door, to open it, to drag him out, into the unbearable light.”

“Which leaves us only with stupid act number three—skipping the Hitler Youth meetings. He didn’t stop going right away, purely to show Deutscher that he wasn’t afraid of him, but after another few weeks, Rudy ceased his involvement altogether. Dressed proudly in his uniform, he exited Himmel Street and kept walking . . . ”

“What came to her then was the dustiness of the floor, the feeling that her clothes were more next to her than on her, and the sudden realization that this would all be for nothing—that her mother would never write back and she would never see her again. The reality of this gave her a second Watschen. It stung her, and it did not stop for many minutes.”

“To most people, Hans Huberman was barely visible. An un-special person. Certainly his painting skills were excellent. His musical ability was better than average. Somehow, though . . . he was able to appear as merely part of the background. . . . Not noticeable. Not important or particularly valuable.”

“If there was one thing about Liesel Meminger, her thieving was not gratuitous. She only stole books on what she felt was a need-to-have basis.”

“At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It’s likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her.”

″‘How about a kiss, Saumensch?’ He stood waist-deep in the water for a few moments longer before climbing out and handing her the book. His pants clung to him, and he did not stop walking. In truth, I think he was afraid. Rudy Steiner was scared of the book thief’s kiss. He must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them.”

“The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip . . . ”

“They fought each other until 1933, when they were seventeen. Grudging respect turned to genuine friendship, and the urge to fight left them.”

“You’re either for the Führer or against him—and I can see that you’re against him. You always have been.”

“Did he bend down and embrace his foster daughter, as he wanted to do? Did he tell her that he was sorry for what was happening to her, to her mother, for what had happened to her brother? Not exactly. He clenched his eyes. Then opened them. He slapped Liesel Meminger squarely in the face. ‘Don’t ever say that!’ His voice was quiet, but sharp.”